“For now, you stay put. I mean it. Don’t leave this room until I tell you it’s safe to come out.”
The phone rang. Tottie answered and called for Katie. “It’s Ben. He wants to talk to you.”
Katie picked up the extension. “Ben? We have a problem.”
“You’ve got a very big problem. Do you have your television on?”
“No, why?”
“Every station is carrying a breaking news release of Clara’s whereabouts. I’d say you have maybe fifteen minutes or less to get her out of there.”
“Where do I take her?”
“Just get her out of there. Now! There’s a bunch of news vans here in Little Bush asking directions to Candlelight. The town’s turning into a circus. You’re going to be under siege shortly.”
“Can’t you prevent them from hounding us?”
“I would if I could, but as long as they aren’t on your property or blocking a public road, there’s not much I can do.”
Katie hung up, her thoughts racing in a hundred directions. Where could she hide Clara? The answer was evident. Warren. He lived a few miles away, and they could take the backroad to his place. Where was he? He would help. She reached for her cell and punched in his number, wanting to leave the landline open in case Ben tried to call back.
She listened to Warren’s cell phone ringing. His voice came on the line and she blurted, “What do I do? I think they discovered Clara.”
“You think?”
His sarcasm was hard to overlook, but she figured she had it coming. He’d warned her that this would happen.
Humility tasted very bitter right now. She swallowed. “What should I do?”
“I don’t know that you can do anything. The press know where she is.”
“Or they think they do.”
“What?”
“They think they do — they can’t be certain until they have her in sight.”
“How do you know they don’t?”
“They haven’t seen her yet. She’s in her room right now. I’ve told her not to leave until I tell her it’s safe.”
“And you think she’ll listen.”
“I think she’s smart enough to do what she’s told when the election is days away.”
Tottie called from the kitchen. “Katie! The town mayor’s on the phone. He’s in an uproar — wants to know what’s going on!”
“Hold on a minute, Warren.” Katie covered the cell phone mouthpiece. “Tell him the circumstances — that we have a high-profile guest, and we believe the press has discovered her location. Give our apologies to the town. This will be over quickly.”
She had no idea what she was saying. She didn’t have a clue how soon it would be over or, for that matter, what would happen next. She returned to Warren and repeated, “What shall I do?”
“I’ll be over in a minute.” The line went dead.
“What a mess.” Tottie came into the room, shaking her head. “The whole town’s in upheaval over the commotion. What are we going to do, Katie?”
“Warren’s on his way over.”
Tottie turned stoic features her way. “And he’s going to save us?”
Katie didn’t like her stinging tone. “He’ll think of something.”
The landline rang and Katie picked up. Ben’s calm voice said. “I’m sending two cars out.”
“Okay.” She needed help; she wasn’t a total fool. “Hurry.”
Now the important question. Could he or Warren do anything to stop the impending disaster?
A few minutes later two sheriffs’ cars pulled into the farm lot, with Warren right behind them. Ben got out of the first car, and the three police officers and Warren talked for a few minutes before coming to the house. Katie met them at the door, taking note of their serious expressions.
“What are we going to do?” she asked.
Ben met her anxious eyes. “Exactly what I told you to do. We’re going to get Clara out of here before the press descends on you. Get her down here.”
Tottie hurried to Clara’s room and returned in a few minutes with the politician in tow. “Now what?”
Clara didn’t look so smug now. “This is a disaster. How could they have found me, and days before the election?”
Warren snapped. “How could they not have found you? You’ve taken pointless chances. Someone tipped them off.”
Tottie threw down a dish towel. “Let’s not haggle! We don’t have much time.”
Ben glanced at Warren. “No one would look for her at your ranch. Take her with you.”
“Are you serious? What would I do with her?”
“Nothing, I can assure you,” Clara said. “I’ll not be passed around like an unwanted piece of baggage.”
“You don’t have a choice, Mrs. Townsend.” Ben shifted stance. “Come on, Warren. We have to get her out of here so Katie can truthfully tell the media that she isn’t here. Take the back road — chances are the press doesn’t know about it.”
Katie wasn’t very proud of her man. The unmitigated arrogance in Warren’s eyes bothered her. No one was happy about the situation.
“Why me?” he insisted. “You can drive that road as easily as I can.”
Ben crossed broad arms. “In a marked vehicle? She can be gone before we’re surrounded by press cars. We don’t have time to haggle. Just take her and go.”
Tottie spoke up. “Surely you can manage for twenty-four hours, Warren.”
“Please, Warren. You’re our only hope.” Katie realized she was pleading. Overhead a copter whirled.
“All right,” Warren relented. “I’ll take her, but I don’t want a bunch of newshounds on my tail.”
Clara for once was quiet. She didn’t complain when Tottie volunteered to go along. Dressed in jeans and a T-shirt and wearing the black wig she had arrived in, Clara bore little resemblance to the woman whose features were plastered on their TV screen. Tottie, Clara, and Warren piled in the pickup and sped away from Candlelight.
Sixteen
Janet turned to face Ben. “What do we do? I don’t want my face on the evening news.”
“You stay in the house.” Ben said. “Stay away from the windows. Pull the curtains. A telescopic lens can pick up a fly on a steer’s rump.”
Meg stood flattened against the living room wall. “They’re here.”
“Ben — I have to look. Just one quick peek,” Katie promised.
“Just one quick peek,” Ben mimicked. “You women won’t let me do my job.”
Four vans pulled up behind the two sheriff’s cars blocking the private drive. Katie was thankful for the long driveway. At least the press couldn’t get on the property. But her relief was short lived as one van broke away from the others and zoomed up the drive to brake in the front yard. The others followed. Soon the grass was trampled by people holding cameras and microphones, milling around and getting in each other’s way. Ben would have to move them back to the road.
Meg had left the wall to turn on the television set. “Look, there we are.”
A picture of the ranch flashed on the screen. An earnest-looking woman whose name Katie couldn’t remember stared into the camera. “A private source says that Clara Townsend, Senate candidate, has been hiding from her husband in a remote corner of Wyoming. Mrs. Townsend allegedly has been the object of domestic abuse and has taken refuge in a private shelter for battered women. The question is what impact will this have on the election, only days away? Both parties are in turmoil over this revelation. We go now to Maggie Whitecliff, with our onsite crew. Maggie, are you there?”
The view switched to a dark-haired woman dressed in a red jacket and black pants, makeup professionally done, smiling into the camera. Katie recognized her as a member of the media who was standing outside her front door.
“Thank you, Kari. We’re here at Candlelight, the shelter where Clara Townsend has allegedly taken refuge. No one has seen Mrs. Townsend, but we have it from a reliable source that she is inside.”
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sp; Meg switched channels where another anchorwoman repeated the same story. Katie sighed. “I guess we’re in lock-down mode. I’ll have to talk to them eventually, but I’ll put it off as long as possible.”
Ben scribbled on a legal pad. “We need to get our story straight.” He rubbed a hand over his chin. “You got any coffee?”
“I’ll get it,” Janet volunteered. “You and Katie can plan strategy.”
We should be so lucky, Katie thought. Maybe Ben knew what to do.
She was fresh out of ideas.
At the Tates, Tottie stood at the kitchen window, eyes taking in the neat corrals and the well-kept house and yard. It was a man’s home, with none of the fancy touches a woman would have added. Warren wasn’t a happy host. So far he’d allowed Clara to retire to the comfort of the guest room, where Tot-tie figured the politician was on the phone plotting with her campaign staff about how to handle the unexpected crisis.
Warren slumped in a leather recliner, brooding. Tottie left the window and sat down on the sofa. “Why are you so upset about this? I’d think you’d want to help Katie out of a bad situation.”
“Katie shouldn’t have gotten herself into this situation. I could have told her that woman was trouble. Her kind always is.”
“What do you know about her kind?”
“All I need to know. She doesn’t have a thought beyond herself.”
The housekeeper frowned. “This isn’t about Clara. It’s about the shelter. The other women are in danger too, and they don’t have Clara’s resources. They can’t afford to be found.”
“Maybe it would be best if they were discovered. They could go home to their husbands, and Katie could focus on taking care of herself.”
Tottie fixed him with chilly stare. “You don’t mean that. And if you do, shame on you. Katie is doing her best to help these women. You could be more supportive.”
Warren sat up straighter. “And you need to mind your own business.”
“Katie is my business.”
He fell silent, then nodded. “You’re right. I was out of line. I’m sorry, but you know I’ve tried to help Katie. She’s too much like her grandfather. Bullheaded. If these emotionally crippled women didn’t occupy her time, Katie would be able to spend more effort on us — me and her, and a future together.”
“Warren, consider all the good things she’s done for the shelter and for the community. People here respect Katie, and she’s earned that respect. Her goodness will only enhance a future with you. Why do you stand in her way?”
“A person can only be ‘savior to all’ when he or she has the money to indulge. Katie doesn’t have it. That shelter is on its last legs financially, and when it goes down, Katie will lose her shirt. Why can’t you see that I’m thinking of Katie’s welfare, and possibly you’re not?”
Tottie slapped both hands on the side of the chair. “You arrogant, mule-headed heathen. God helped Katie open Candlelight, and if he wants it to succeed, he’ll see that it does. And Katie is a praying woman. God takes care of her, and there’s no one, Warren, no one on this earth who cares for that woman more than I do. So shove your pity, mister, and listen to common sense. Katie won’t ever give up on that shelter, so if you want a future with her, you best stick that in your craw and chew on it.”
His mirthless laugh was anything but agreeable. “If that pack of reporters spots her, the shelter will be a thing of the past. She’ll get so much bad press out of this situation, she’ll be forced to shut down.”
With a disgruntled snort, Tottie shoved out of the chair and left the room.
Katie woke the next morning to sounds of copters, satellite trucks, and complete chaos at the end of the drive. Ben had quickly dispersed the news hounds to public property. She’d spent the night in her chair, Ben on the sofa. They had talked into the wee hours, but came up with no clear-cut plan on how to handle the media. Last night the story had dominated the news. CNN and Fox were putting a new slant on the special reports. Talking heads were now portraying Clara as a helpless victim.
Katie went into the kitchen to start coffee. She flicked on the small TV on the kitchen counter and found Good MorningAmerica’s Diane Sawyer talking about Neil Townsend, pinpointing his life and the abuse he had heaped on Clara. Ben joined Katie, taking the cream out of the refrigerator. Katie yawned. Staying up all night had taken a toll on her. Meg had crept into the living room to join them around midnight, listening as they tried to form a plan. Katie had finally sent her back to bed around four a.m.
Ben indicated the television. “You got to hand it to Clara. Her campaign managers have done a heck of a job on damage control. She’ll wind up with the sympathy vote and win by a landside.”
Katie took bacon and eggs from the refrigerator. “Is that possible?”
“Anything is possible in politics. Remember a few years back when Missouri elected a dead man to the Senate? Mel Carnahan was killed in a plane crash, and with the media’s help, he won the race. His widow served in his stead.”
“So you think something similar will happen in Clara’s case?”
“It’s possible. After breakfast we’d better meet with the reporters and give them a story. They’re going to stay until we give them a reason to leave.”
Wincing, Katie shook her head. “I’m not looking forward to that.” She turned the sizzling slices of bacon.
The women gathered, and when they finished eating, Ben and Katie stepped outside to face a solid wall of men and women with cameras and microphones. A good number held notepads. Katie took a deep breath, grateful for Ben’s steady support.
A reporter thrust a microphone at Katie. “I understand Clara Townsend is here. Would you like to comment on that?”
Katie shook her head. “Your information is wrong. Mrs. Townsend is not here.”
“Then where is she?”
“All I can say is that she isn’t here.”
“You run a women’s shelter. Is that correct?”
Ben had told her to answer without lying, and she was doing her best. “That’s correct, a shelter for women and horses. We have four horses recovering from the semi accident a few weeks ago. They’ve coming along nicely, and their plight would make a wonderful human interest story.”
“Horses?” The woman frowned. “What about Clara Townsend?”
Ben spoke up. “Miss Addison has told you the truth. Clara Townsend is not on the premises; however, you people are trespassing. You need to move off the property before I arrest you. You’ll have to look for Mrs. Townsend elsewhere. Your information isn’t correct.”
Grumbling broke out, but the press began to pack up and move out. Katie watched from the window as the final van pulled away. Behind her the television rehashed the story, repeating the same skimpy details over and over.
She reached for Ben’s hand. “Thanks. You handled that well.”
He smiled, a tired effort, and squeezed her hand. “You need to get some rest.”
“Not until you do.”
“That may be awhile.”
“I’m in no hurry.” The sudden warmth she felt for this man overpowered her. Maybe it was lack of sleep, or the rush of adrenalin, or whatever, but Warren paled when she compared the two men’s compassion.
“Look, there’s Clara’s husband on TV,” Ruth exclaimed. “What did she ever see in him?”
Katie turned in time to see Neil Townsend walking out of his Washington office, holding a newspaper to conceal his face. One persistent reporter must have gotten under his skin, because he turned and snarled, “I’ll tell you things about Clara Townsend you don’t know.”
The camera switched back to the regular newscast.
Bitter, the talking heads said. Vindictive.
The phone rang and Katie went to answer. Tottie’s voice came over the line. “Is it safe to come home? I’m tired of listening to Warren and Clara carp at each other.”
“All clear. Do you want me to come get you?”
“No, let Warren bring me.
Maybe a ride in fresh air would do him some good. Sweeten his disposition.”
“He needs one of your cherry pies to sweeten him up.”
“He’ll not likely get one of my pies anytime soon.”
“Come on, Tottie. He’s just grumpy because he moved back here for peace and quiet and has very little. Can you blame him for being testy? And you know Clara gets under his skin. He’s really a nice guy.”
“I suppose I can’t blame him, but I wish the man would get over whatever’s eating him.”
Katie hung up, grinning at the thought of Warren and Clara cooped up together for twenty-four hours. Ben got up and reached for his hat. “I have to get back to the office. I’ve done all I can here. If the press return, call and let me know.”
“I will — and thanks for the help.”
“No problem.” He settled the hat on his head. “It may be the one and only time I’ll ever spend the night with you.”
“Yeah?” She waved a piece of crisp bacon under his nose and jumped when he snapped it up.
He’d been a blessing last night. There was a lot of nice about him, characteristics she hadn’t noticed. Like the way he grinned when something wasn’t meant to be funny or the way his expression would turn dead serious when she’d attempted to wow him with her sparkling, spontaneous sense of humor, which he apparently didn’t conceive to be spontaneous or humorous.
She had a hunch they could have been a great pair in their earlier years.
Seventeen
Warren phoned later, and Katie listened to his list of Clara grievances. “You’ve got to get rid of her, Katie. I can’t stay outside day and night — though that’s preferable to being with her.”
“What’s she done now?”
“What hasn’t she done? Taken over my house, dominates the conversation, and we don’t have the same political views. I make her smoke outside in the metal shed, and she’s highly ticked.”
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